


Surrender

by Blurhawaii



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Light Dom/sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 21:11:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2666498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blurhawaii/pseuds/Blurhawaii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Office romance. Nico has been under his father's thumb his whole life and now he wants a change. So quits university and gets a new job. He meets his boss' wife and while working together, they discover they have mutual kinks that their respective partners don't share and give in to the desire to fulfill their fantasies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Round 4 of Understeers.

Nico tells his father he's dropping out of university over dinner and he can't even look at him.

His father's disappointment hurts, sure, but he can't stay there, not when they all look at him and expect to see his father, version 2.0. It's suffocating, the pressure he receives. It's immense and all over something he never truly wanted in the first place.

So he bows out.

He moves back into his childhood room and, a week later, a guy with a thick Austrian accent calls before breakfast, offering him a job. He's heard the name Wolff enough times to know his father must have a hand in setting this up.

In simple terms, the job sucks. He'll be the office whipping boy with a slew of boring work topped off with a depressingly low salary, and it's clearly his father's way of spitting in his face.

Nico accepts only because they're all expecting him to say no.

-

No surprise, he's overdressed on his first day. He tries to work through it but by lunch his suit jacket is draped delicately over the back of his chair, and his sleeves are turned up to his elbows.

Without a break, he makes copies, he runs coffee, he inputs data and he sends out emails. When five o'clock rolls around he's still none the wiser as to what they actually do here. He also doesn't really care. He doesn't even meet the boss until he's packing his bag to leave.

All day he's been ignored and when a dark shadow suddenly looms over his desk, he's prepared for the worst. What he doesn't expect is for Toto Wolff, the boss, to stick out his hand and invite him into his office for a chat.

Nico trails miserably after the guy, who's like a foot taller than him, into a corner office surrounded by somewhat pretentious glass walls. The blinds are down, affording them some privacy, and it's not until they're sitting at opposing sides of the desk that Nico truly recognises his face.

The man opposite has probably sat at their family dinner table more times than Nico himself. Growing up with a career path already set out for him, it was a requirement that he join the adult table long before he was ready. He can hear his father's voice now. _These are the very contacts you're going to need, Nico, once you're an established engineer like me._ Never mind that any talk of business went right over his head at that age.

This probably isn't the way his father imagined things would turn out but it's certainly funny how the cards fall sometimes.

On the other side of the desk, Toto crosses one leg over the other and stares.

"I'm not going to lie, Nico. I really thought you'd be well on your way by now." As a conversation opener, it's something of a backhanded compliment, though nothing he's never heard before. "What was it you wanted to be," he goes on, "a race car driver?"

"Formula one," Nico says, and the words are like sandpaper in his throat.

"I remember," Toto nods. "You had a kart and everything."

He did. Until his father stripped it, engineering genius that he is, and Nico was no longer allowed to drive it until he had put it all back in working order. At eight years old, he knew what it was to be pissed beyond belief.

Toto settles back in his chair and drums his fingers against the desktop. "Last I heard you were at university, studying engineering," he says, and it's an obvious lie considering the ink was barely dry on the papers discharging him when he received this job offer.

"It wasn't for me," Nico says.

Toto tilts his head inquiringly.

A strange thought then hits Nico from nowhere that he's probably sat on this guy's lap at some point, no doubt that he was a clingy kid, and the almost certainty has Nico scuffing his too polished shoes against the ground instead of answering.

It's possible he may have bitten off more than he could chew getting involved here.

A knock on the door interrupts his pity party before it can get any worse and it opens soon after without permission. A woman with neat blonde hair and sensible shoes steps half into the room but freezes when she sees Toto is not alone.

"Sorry," she says. "I'll give you two a minute."

Toto is quick to wave her in. "Don't bother," he says, "come in. I'd like you to meet someone anyway."

Nico immediately rises from his chair; manners were ingrained in him as a kid and are infinitely more useful than any engineering equation. He holds out his hand and she shakes it, her grip comfortably light.

"This is Keke's boy," Toto supplies over their shoulders and all of a sudden that weight is on him again and he's back in university.

"Nico," he corrects, but what's the point.

She squeezes his hand when she notices the slighted look in his eyes and it's more recognition than he's gotten in years and isn't that depressing. If he takes too long to drop her hand, he hopes she can understand why.

"It's nice to meet you," she says and Nico dutifully parrots it back.

"Nico is here doing something of an internship with us," Toto says, and any thought that he was giving him this opportunity out of the kindness of his heart goes right out of the window. Calling it an internship is a joke and the old familiar grip of a controlling hand is back around his throat too. He may never escape it.

"They must be running you ragged," she says, smiling; not quite oblivious but treading lightly. "This is a busy time of the year for us."

Nico nods when, honestly, he has no idea either way.

She circles the desk, brandishing a folder in her hands and Toto's eyes light up. Just like that, Nico is forgotten and he drops into the chair again with a sigh. They talk briefly, figures and graphs and such, but they don't drop the air of casualness between them.

Spread out along the desktop, Nico spots the distinct lines and curves of chassis schematics and he digs his fingernails into the underside of his thigh because it's the only thing keeping him from screaming.

"I've still got some work to do," Toto's voice cuts in, bringing Nico's gaze to him. "Take your car; I'll meet you at home."

She looks like she wants to say something else but her eyes briefly flickers over to Nico and instead she bottles it up. She leans in to place a chaste kiss on Toto's cheek and Nico doesn't turn away.  
She then leaves them to it and Toto watches her go fondly.

"Susie," he offers her name, not long after the door shuts behind her, "my wife." And it's clear he adores her. "She is right also, these next few weeks will be very busy and you will most likely be working under her while you are here. You are welcome to think of her as your boss."

Toto smiles and it's not a nice smile, it's a smile that says, ‘Your father sent you here for a reason.' And that reason seems to be to find a new low.

Nico takes this moment to wonder how he found himself in this situation once again. It could be that there's a part of him, deeply buried, that feels more comfortable under the press of someone else's boot. Maybe this is just where he belongs.

"Your father always said you were a genius with numbers," Toto adds, and it's not a compliment, it's a stark reminder of every heavy chain he has had strapped around his ankles since birth.

Toto leans across the desk, offering his open palm, and what's one more chain, Nico thinks, as he slides his trembling hand into his.

-

The Christmas season rolls around a month after he starts.

Every day leading up to it has been a constant struggle against self-loathing and rare flashes of contentment. There's a reason his father calls him a genius with numbers and, as much as he hates it, Nico is good at what he does. He could sketch the insides of a then-modern formula one car by the time he was twelve. Its construction makes effortless sense to him; he just wishes he was behind the wheel instead of under it.

All the while, his colleagues are polite, if a bit perfunctory. And his father, well, at least they're talking again now. Toto is perfectly happy to keep him updated on his progress regardless.

Susie is the only one who speaks to him without a motive in mind and Nico often finds himself seeking out her eyes throughout the day as a sort of tether. She is also content here, working alongside her husband, though Nico can already spot the tell-tale signs of someone itching for more control.

Nico slips and calls her ‘Boss' one time and her dark eyes get impossibly darker. He struggles with the desire to do it again with purpose.

-

Nico is almost ashamed of how much of a goddamn cliché it is that he finds himself on his knees in the woman's bathroom at the office Christmas party.

The thought that it's so much cleaner in here than he's used to briefly goes through his head but then a delicate fingered hand fists in his hair and he's literally dragged back to the present situation. Which just so happens to be him on his knees while, right in front of his face, the boss's wife hikes her skirt further up her legs. And while he had downed a plastic cup of apple scented wine as soon as he had walked through the door, as far as he knows, neither one of them is actually drunk enough to blame it for the situation they are in.

They're both crowded into a single cubicle and when Susie looks down at him, her expression is calm. She seems to delight in tugging sharply on his hair and Nico goes with it when she guides his head between her legs. Her smell is sickly sweet in his throat and all-consuming as he hovers, unsure. He can't help the shudder that passes through him.

His hands are shaking where he has them brushing her thighs and they must be vibrating through her skin because she is quick to peel them off. "No," she tells him. "Put them behind your back."

Only for a second does Nico falter. He thinks of his father and his forceful career advice. He thinks of her husband, in the next room, picking up where his father left off. He thinks of every girlfriend he's ever had, always taller than him, even without the aid of heels.

Nico is a pushover at heart and when he finally chooses to surrender himself over, it's a relief.

He loops his fingers around his wrist, resting them on the small of his back, and the only thing keeping them there is her solid instruction. It's somehow stronger than any physical tie could hope to be and his cock pulses against the unforgiving stretch of his slacks at the instant feeling of puzzle pieces slotting into place.

"Now, get me off," she breathes, and Nico tips into the open bracket of her legs, burying his nose into the soft material of her underwear.

He didn't shave this morning and the two day old growth adds another layer of friction as he slowly mouths at her. He has no idea what he's doing but her breathing turns shallow and it could just be the situation that's doing it for her; the power and the control. Hell, the opposite is working wonders for him as well.

She moves backwards once his confidence grows, seeking the back wall, and Nico shuffles forward on his knees, guided by the hand that never leaves his head. It's far from graceful but then one of her legs curves up over his shoulder and her not so sensible shoe cuts into his spine.

The sounds of Wham! on the other side of the wall become muffled. Probably for the best, Nico thinks, on the verge of hysterics, and he jostles his empty side in the hopes that her other thigh will move up to block it out completely.

Her breath hitches and then Nico's head is fully enclosed.

He's struggling to fill his lungs but he doesn't care, the scratch of her nails against his scalp tells him she's already close. The lower half of his face is wet and Nico presses his tongue flat against her, shifting the pressure every time she wordlessly directs his mouth like a tool.

When she comes, she freezes, thighs tight around his ears, and then like a snapped elastic band the tension ripples out of her, again and again, long and short, while Nico helplessly moves to her rhythm.

He dimly remembers being painfully hard but it's the last thing on his mind.

Breathing is first; though Nico waits.

He waits until her shudders subside. He waits until her hands fall away from his skull and she releases her body's hold on his head altogether. He waits until she nudges him back, seating himself on his raised heels. And he waits until she tilts his head up to meet her blinding smile to finally draw air into his lungs and the relief is orgasmic in its own right.

It's not quite enough though and the invisible bond keeping Nico's hands in place grows heavy.

Susie smiles down at him, knowing exactly what she's doing. She continues to smile when she swipes her thumb along his lower lip, dipping in slightly to catch his teeth, and also when she brushes past him to unlock the stall door.

Without a word, she steps out of the cubicle. She uses the extra space to pull her clothes back into place, runs her hands under the tap, and then she's gone; with Christmas music dipping in and out as the door opens and closes.

Still on his knees, Nico thinks of Monday morning, what it will bring, and comes alone, untouched, in the woman's bathroom.


End file.
